


i'll blow all of my love to your lips

by youngkkang (Marauder)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Very Metaphor-Heavy, Very Prose-Heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 04:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marauder/pseuds/youngkkang
Summary: Love this quiet moment//A hundred artists could paint the same scene a hundred different ways. Maybe it’s not significant, except that it is.





	i'll blow all of my love to your lips

**Author's Note:**

> For best results listen to Hyukoh's latest comeback Love Ya!

The air is thick and salty, humid and nostalgic, the only combination where the humidity isn’t such a burden. It reminds Seungkwan of beach days when he was younger, swallowing sea water while playing in the ocean. Now, each breath in is a sip, and they drink each other in. Words and laughter trip over jagged rocks and fall into the crashing water.

The waves are blue. A deep blue, a jarring contrast with the inky black rocks that pepper the shore, interrupt the tide. The moss upon them is a vibrant green, scent strong, fuzzy against the pads of their feet. Seafoam evaporates into clouds above them.

They’re in an oil painting in a museum, where the artist had flown the paint thickly on the canvas, so it can be felt, tasted, so it’s real.

It’s not their first date, not their last, not significant in any other way than that it’s been a while.

It makes sense, is the thing, they shouldn’t have been prepared for anything else, really. They’re in Jeju because they were in Japan, and they’ll be in Japan again. Before that, they’re promoting their shirts and their exhibition, before then they were writing and recording and rehearsing and too soon before that they were promoting for their last comeback. It was always going to be like this.

Every breath they take, every saturated breath, could be spent working. But it’s not. It flies away with the breeze.

\--

They arrive in Jeju pretty late on their first day.

Vernon thinks about seeing Seungkwan’s home—really seeing it—for the first time, a small smile playing on his lips. They’re silent and looking down at their feet when they kick the wet sand, let it slip in between their toes. Their hands are laced together, blocky rings on their pinkies a burden if they hadn’t been so used to it. They don’t talk for a while.

The shore speaks for them, a conversation that only they can hear.

The wave the crashes onto the beach, creeps up about a meter away from them, whispers about lost time. It sinks back, giving them space, the imprints their feet make on the shore crunch back: _we have all the time in the world_.

Seungkwan’s fingers twitch into the back of Vernon’s hand, prompts him to look up at the house, the house Seungkwan grew up in, so close to the beach. Their bags sit on the front porch, waiting for them to return from their walk.

(Seungkwan wants them to walk along the shore, parallel to the slow inhale and exhale of the tide before they go in to explore his childhood home. He jumps around the porch, smile wide, taking off his sandals and leaving them on the stairs while he waits for Vernon to do the same. He’s never been more endearing, maybe.

There are moments where the universe whispers _I love you_ louder than it can possibly be said out loud.

Vernon does anyway, lips crawling wide, stuffing his long white socks into his shoes haphazardly taken off, jumps down to a twirling Seungkwan, whispers _I love you_ into his lips. The gods can’t tear them apart.)

When Seungkwan gives Vernon the official tour, he’s only half paying attention. He focuses on the way Seungkwan’s voice goes up in the middle of words when he’s excited, watches his feet scurry across the house, body half-tilted, overcompensating the weight of his duffel bag.

He’d never been in love before Seungkwan. He can’t imagine an after.

\--

“This house is beautiful,” Vernon says, head in Seungkwan’s lap, sprawled out on his childhood bed. Seungkwan’s fingers run through his hair absent-mindedly, playing with the little soft waves and brushes his thumbs on Vernon’s forehead, his eyebrows, caresses the breaths that hitch in his throat.

“I know. Mom always made sure I was clean and neat, but it payed off. I got to bring you here.” Seungkwan plants a soft kiss on Vernon’s forehead. “I’m glad you like it so much. It’s been so long since I’ve been back.”

He says it, and the exhaustion is evident in his voice. Not just from the trip home, but from their overexertion. Vernon’s always been lucky, living near enough to their dorms that he could visit home whenever he got particularly homesick. Of course, Seungkwan was always welcome, but it’s different.

Seungkwan looks around at his old posters, at his blue walls faded from the sun, at his old dresser, at the way the sun sets, and the moon rises and casts shadows past his window, remembers the way he would fall asleep and wake up as a child. Vernon looks up, eyes gliding around Seungkwan’s features as he talks, soft and round.

They’re both looking at home.

\--

Seungkwan takes out a beach blanket and Vernon takes out his polaroid camera to watch the sun set. They get the distinct impression that they’re once again living in a painting., laying out in the sand.

Vernon digs his toes into the sand as they hang off the edge of the blanket. He’s laying on his stomach, propped up by his elbows.  His fingers trace the little Orion’s Belt of moles that decorate the little patch of skin right in front of Seungkwan’s left ear.

Seungkwan is humming, which isn’t unlike him. The entire beach is an orchestra, the waves are the cymbals and Seungkwan’s voice are the strings.

“What are you singing?”

Seungkwan turns his head back to Vernon, trapping his hand under his head. He smiles and sings in English, softly at first as it’s a calming tune, until the beat of the waves picks up and the air swirls around them and Seungkwan sings out “I love ya,” laughter not interrupting his note.

Seungkwan’s laugh is the best sound in the world, Vernon thinks. It’s the brass section that picks up across the stage, the short bursts of energy and light, the clanging of metal straight up against Vernon’s chest. They reverberate around them, shaking the stars so they come down onto the beach and live with them.

Vernon remembers his camera that he has lying by his side, takes a photo of Seungkwan down in front of him, light emanating from him, like his face is the moon, he dances among the stars that float around them.

The first picture he takes, Seungkwan’s mouth is open wide, swallowing a long note. His eyes are closed, and a small crinkle is formed on the bridge of his nose.

The second picture, Seungkwan’s hand is covering his face while he laughs, suddenly aware of the pictures Vernon is taking. The reflection of the moon jumps off the bulky ring on his finger. It shines into the lens, shooting rainbows across the picture.

The third is an accident, Vernon’s still holding the camera in his right hand as he leans down, smile so deep it shuts his eyes for him. Their teeth clang together, another instrument, possibly a cymbal, crashing. Their lips barely touch, it’s barely a kiss, merely an acknowledgement: _I love you so much I can’t step away from it. I love you so much I’d kiss you if I wasn’t too busy loving you._

The camera doesn’t capture it, just pieces of Seungkwan’s hair, the pattern of the blanket, Orion’s Belt as it sits in the sky.

\--

They stumble over each other, giggling, drunk on salt water, racing back to the empty house. Seungkwan’s empty bed.

Their love has always been innocent, but not always pure. When Seungkwan closes their door to the outside world, to the beach, to the sun setting on their first night in too many nights, too many months, where they’ve had a vacation, he pushes Vernon against the back of it with a thud. He peppers kisses across his jawline, under his ear, down his neck.

With a deep breath and a chuckle that he doesn’t let devolve into a fit of laughter, the way that tends to happen with the two of them, Vernon grabs Seungkwan by the back of his neck with his left hand and the small of his back with his right, lowers his lips to Seungkwan’s so they touch. Softly. Sweetly.

The waves fall silent behind him, the only sound is their slow exhales and the beating of their hearts in tandem, the way that they do.

Every time, it’s in slow motion. It doesn’t feel like fireworks going off behind their eyelids as they flutter shut, or that his heart beats so fast that it might break free from his ribcage, leaving behind a happy shell. Their kiss, instead, is the eye of the storm, eerily silent and slow and calm and every time it’s jarring and new. Every time he’s sent back to their first kiss.

(They’re pre-debut and they’re small and curious and their hands are boney and awkward and unassertive, and they bump noses a bit. It’s something new and it feels like they’re too young for this—they’re too young to feel so clearly, so strongly, that this is what a kiss should feel like.

Seungkwan is so forward and yet impossibly nervous at the same time, eyes demanding a kiss and mouth too shy to see it through on its own. Too hesitant to close the gap between them. Seungkwan’s hands are sharp and delicate and determined, wrapped up in Vernon’s sleeves, yanked towards himself so their faces are a breath, a heartbeat apart.

They’d been scolded for staying up too late but neither of them had been willing to sleep until they made the move.

Seungkwan’s eyes wide and pleading, Vernon moves in softly, shivering, hesitant. It’s a small kiss.

It’s a picture, not a painting the way it feels a few years later on Jeju island, where the world is clear and colorful and thick with paint. It’s two dimensional, but both of them crawled into their respective down beds, eyes wide for hours, hands grazing their lips, desperate for time to slow like that again.)

He tastes like salt, Vernon thinks, Seungkwan’s lower lip is sticky with sea mist, his tongue is timid and gentle as it brushes up against his own. His left fingers lace into the small hairs on the back of Seungkwan’s neck, right hand, pressed flat, glides up his spine. Seungkwan is a wave beneath his palm, moves like a tide in his arms, and Vernon has to hold tight, so he doesn’t spring loose, doesn’t rip away, doesn’t thunder backwards into his room before they have a chance to make their way there.

Seungkwan himself has been the ocean all along, melting in his hands, ebbing and flowing, crashing and hissing, always his. Always there.

\--

The next morning the sun wakes them up. Neither of them slept much—when you know your time is ever-fleeting you want to spend as much time awake as possible. Seungkwan’s his own ray of sunshine, and Vernon kisses him soft on his cheek before crawling out of the bed, unwrapping himself from the sheets, walking across the cold wooden floor without waiting for Seungkwan to follow him.

They eat breakfast, both aware that they only have a few hours to spend before they go back to their dorms to record or promote, before they have to go back to reality. It’s not sad, but they’re not ready.

Seungkwan speaks up when his heart clenches a little too tight.

So, they go outside, Vernon in his pink jacket and hoodie, long socks and shoes, Seungkwan in his cuffed jeans and sandals. They walk along the sidewalk this time until they make it back to the rocks, taking more giggly pictures, shaking out the Polaroids gently as they develop, sticking them in their backpack. They share a kiss on every rock, greet every wave with a smile, and watch while the sun moves slowly across the sky until they have to go back home.

A hundred artists could paint the same scene a hundred different ways. Maybe it’s not significant, except that it is.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Seventeen fic and the first fic I've posted in years. I don't always use this style, but if you saw Seungkwan's instagram update on 0531 you'll see why I had to do what I did. This is possibly the softest thing I or anyone has ever written.
> 
> Follow me at @seokhanlovehour on twitter for more soft stan antics


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